It can be hard to assert yourself when you feel like you don’t fit in.
Photograph: Alamy

I’m in the fourth year of my PhD. My funding runs out in less than two months. I do not have a thesis to submit. How did this happen? Nobody told me that a PhD was a trial by assertiveness. And, as I will explain, I’m about as assertive as a rice-pudding.

I did an undergraduate degree in English and History. I nearly had a breakdown in my final year. It was important to me to do well in my exams to convince myself that I deserved to be at university. I came even closer to a breakdown during my master’s degree: classes were small and lecturers got to know your name. I couldn’t handle the pressure of being seen, of being judged by them.

My supervisor suggested my thesis could be the basis for a PhD. She prompted me to apply for a scholarship. I applied, thinking I would never get it. My gut was telling me that I wasn’t ready to do this, that I wasn’t mature or confident enough.

When I secured the scholarship my family were so proud. “My daughter, the doctor,” my mum kept saying. At the age of 23, I committed to a four-year research project. I felt lucky, scared, trapped.

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Unfortunately, my anxious gut was right. A PhD thesis requires levels of assertiveness I can’t imagine ever having. It is basically a list of reasons why: why is your topic important? Why are you the best person to research this topic? Why have you approached your topic in a particular way? Why have you come to certain conclusions? It’s not as if there are wrong answers, but you must assert that your answers are the right ones.

There is also the lack of structure that comes with undertaking a PhD. Every day you have to assert that you are working and define your own working hours. You must be able to sit at your desk and believe that you have something to contribute to your field.

So, how do you think I fared when faced with all these tests? When my supervisor suggested a particular direction for my research because it would look good on funding applications, do you think I was able to disagree? And when, two years in, I still couldn’t get to grips with my topic, with making work-time sacred, with the idea of being a PhD student, do you think I was able to assert myself and take a break, or even quit?

Signing up for a PhD does not mean you are suddenly a professional academic with all the skills and competencies this job requires. Yet universities seem to expect you to acquire these skills by osmosis. As a PhD student, you must be able to teach, design undergraduate courses, make funding applications, write articles, organise conferences and workshops, develop your online academic profile, and participate in your research community by attending events nationally and internationally. You must do all this while researching and writing your thesis.

If I could start again I would tell myself that it’s okay that I don’t know how to do all of these things and that it’s okay to ask for help. I believe that academic and support staff are willing to help you acquire these skills but, unfortunately, I also believe that it requires a certain amount of assertiveness to ask for help.

As an undergraduate, I attended the free university counselling service. Without this support I don’t think I would have completed my degree. However, in recent years, the service has become extremely busy and students are now offered only two sessions. I attended 16 sessions over the course of my final year.

In the eight years I have been at university, I have seen awareness of students’ mental health issues increase. But I feel more could be done to seek out those students who feel unable to ask for help. Help should not have to be demanded, it should be offered in subtle and various ways to every student who walks through the university’s doors.

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I’m not passionate about my research because I allowed others to dictate it to me. I’m from a normal, working-class background. I’m not assertive because I don’t have that easy confidence that comes from growing up believing that you have the right and the capability to be anything you want. This easy confidence is largely reserved for the middle and upper classes.

Some would argue that class is not important in our fluid, modern societies. If you’re naturally very confident and easy-going, maybe you will succeed no matter where you come from.

But I am not one of those people. I walked into the university and I felt that I didn’t belong. I’ve been very lucky that lecturers, my family, and funding bodies have supported me. Yet, I am still struggling.

I started this PhD four years ago. I’ve learned a lot and received a lot of help along the way. Now I’m faced with a choice: to quit the PhD and be forever haunted by my failure, or continue without funding, paying fees, and juggling work and study in the hope that somehow I will find a way to overcome my anxieties and produce a thesis. I’m not sure if I’m capable of either.